All Rise...

The Charge

The Case

In places like California and Florida they dot the landscape like thousands
of artificial lakes. They sparkle with chlorinated cleanness and dapple a
billion beams of rainbow light across the trimmed lawns and aluminum sided cells
of suburbia. When they thrive, they are bastions of relaxation and exultation, a
sign of wealth, privilege, and the endless summer. But when they expire, they
become stagnant and brackish. They crack and decay, crumbling into themselves
under the burden of a thousand vacations and a million screams of joy.
Occasionally, they become garbage reservoirs, refuse piles conveniently located
in your own backyard. And just as quickly as they were craved they are
forgotten, resigned to a death as a smelly sinkhole in the midst of an overall
gentrification of a nation. But every once in a while, they are resurrected.
They are given a new charter on being, cleaned and appreciated by a new
assemblage who still find kinship in their kidney shapes and delirium in their
deep ends. For these are the bowl riders, the shredders who grind the coping and
defy the deathbox as they maneuver through their own individualized skatepark
sunk into the ground. They are men who live on the buzz of the bank. They are
people who make it their goal to keep a skateboarding tradition vital and
vibrant in these modern times of wooden ramps and video games. They exist for
risk and thrive on the fleeting, fading smell of Chlorine.

Chlorine is a companion piece to 2002's stellar skateboarding
documentary Dogtown And Z-Boys.
Actually, it's more like a footnote to a single facet of that film, i.e. pool
skating or as those in the know call it, "bowl carving." Utilizing
interview footage, archival material, and a Cops-style follow-along
technique, we witness firsthand how a ragtag group of fanatics find ways (and
abandoned pools) to get their much-needed gnarlies out. It's joyful expression
of athletic artistry. It's a beautiful and brutal look at how time and age have
ravaged and reinvigorated the first generation of skate legends. There are five
featured "stars" in this film, old school riders who still find the
sublime in the shred: the physical and mature Steve Alba, the cocky and
confident Dave Reul, the rocker in search of a band swagger of Steve Olson, the
manic screech preacher Dave Hackett, and the teen trapped in an adult's body
known as Lance Mountain. They, along with various other famous faces from the
world of boarding, leave an indelible mark on this movie. They recall the
foundation of one of skating's traditions while reflecting on how, in some ways,
the sport has moved on, laughing under its breath at the last remaining riders
of the concrete curves.

There is something wistful about a movie like this. Perhaps it's the lazy,
lonely California setting, the abandoned pools and rundown homes baking in the
warm sun, in stark contrast to the over-glamorized LaLa Land we've come to
expect in the media. Maybe it's the men themselves, seasoned skaters who've
avoided the Tony Hawk spotlight and corporate sellout ideal for the true rush of
riding the cement surf. Or it could be the outright blood brother companionship
these people feel for each other, a tribal mentality of being inside an elite
cult of crazy, crafty clowns that only want to push their bodies and their
experiences to the limit. For this group, every new aquatic discovery is an
inverted mountain to climb, a chance to take one more endorphin-pumping pass
inside the prototypical symbol of class and luxury. For the riders in
Chlorine, there is a quest for the perfect pool and the perfect pool
ride. And it's never ending.

The important part to note here is that most of the men featured in this
film (some of whom made appearances in Dogtown) are all now in their late
30s and early 40s, a time when a label of "middle age" is stamped on a
human's head and their daredevil days of shredding and cutting are supposed to
be far behind them. Yet what we see is the exact opposite. These are men chasing
age away through the timeless nature of their sport, their hobby…their
obessession. They are true characters, icons in a closed culture of
specialty speak, shared exciting episodes, and, most importantly, depression
over the bastardization of their passion by the media and the mainstream. These
hardcore warriors are out to fight for the internal ethos of skateboarding, to
deliver it from the malls and the parking garages and reestablish it within the
empty pools and patios of a decaying suburbia, where it belongs. Chlorine
instills this kind of metaphysical reality to the mostly skate-rat ideal of
modern step jumping and railing riding.

Produced by DVD newcomer Rise Above Entertainment, Chlorine is an
exceptional DVD package. The film itself is presented in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio
and the editing and framing are fantastic. Sadly, this is a non-anamorphic
presentation, so those with widescreen TVs will have issues with the transfer.
From a purely aesthetic concept the movie looks—and sounds—great.
Part of the reason for the sonic superiority is the rip-roaring soundtrack that
compiles current metal mania with classic new wave and punk (Devo—always a
welcome aural treat—is featured here). The surround speakers get some
workout during the musical montages, but overall, the dialogue is clear and the
audio is exceptional. As are the bonus extras. Alba and Reul lead us through a
"dude speak" extravaganza on the alternate audio commentary track.
These guys are lingo linguists and they've got the skate speech down pat (one
gets the distinct impression that they invented it). You'll hear more
"rads," "gnarlys," and "bros" and variations
thereon than what you thought existed in the lexicon. Alba and Reul have a story
for every occasion and an anecdote about every pool we see (and some we don't)
and they share them in an over-enthusiastic stream of slang talk-a-thon that
makes up one glorious DVD commentary.

Additional material here helps to flesh out some of the facts and faces in
the film. Lance Mountain gives us a glimpse at the home movies made of him and
his friends as they skate the days of youth away. Toby Burger shows us a couple
of his favorite "secret" skate sites while he dodges the owners and
the law in his shot-on-video short. There is a wonderful slide show presentation
of stills from the film (and the making thereof) that give us more detail about
the life and lifestyle of pool surfers. And for that added touch of nostalgia,
the Eye on L.A. piece featuring the young Alba brothers and their friend
is presented here, in its entirety.

Like a haunting Brian Wilson pop symphony to the lost art of pool riding,
Chlorine recalls all that is pure and magical about the rebellious,
renegade breed of what we now call extreme sports enthusiasts. These sad,
determine men have found that their onetime hobby has become a must have matter
of sustenance, like karmic nourishment for their soul. For them and us,
Chlorine is life affirming and completing.